


It's Raining Tacos

by Guardian_Kysra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Women, Crack, Draco is a kissing fiend, Established Relationship, Excessive use of the F word, F/M, Gen, Not to be taken seriously, Pregnancy Cravings, So. Many. Tacos., Strictly Dramione, UST, henpecked husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Kysra/pseuds/Guardian_Kysra
Summary: Hermione is having a craving.   Her husband, Draco, is determined to give it to her . . . even if it's muggle food and he knows jack shit what it is or where to find it.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Ron Weasley/Susan Bones
Comments: 18
Kudos: 118





	It's Raining Tacos

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic came about due to a thread on the Strictly Dramione facebook group. A few parts were pulled directly from that thread and I do not take any credit for those bits (please see notes at the end for specifics) or for the idea itself.

Hermione had been pregnant for approximately 8 months, 1 week, and 3 days times _infinity_ , and due to the expected Malfoy heir refusing to dislodge himself from behind her ribcage (and the years long concern over curse damage to her uterus), she had been relegated to near total bedrest for the duration of her bouncing baby boy’s gestational period.

Being on bedrest had not been easy for the youngest Mrs. Malfoy, but her doting (and devastatingly handsome) husband had been a godsend – keeping her informed, entertained, exercised, massaged, fed and watered – along with their paid/freed house elf, Stingy.

Right now, as she read an absolutely riveting article about the control of ethylene responses in avocado fruit, she suddenly realized a craving for tacos. She had had some when she and her newly un-oblivated parents had traveled to Mexico after she graduated from Hogwarts (an entire year late due to the war). 

She had _loved_ them. Eaten them at every meal then ordered room service after for more. Especially the _barbacoa._ A long thread of drool stretched from lips to lap, and she didn’t even care to wipe it.

“Draco?” He was never far so she knew she didn’t have to yell or use an amplifying spell.

“You called, my love?” He practically puttered to her side, kissed her lips, plumped her pillows.

She bit the inside of one cheek. “I think I’ve decided on what I would like for dinner.”

He seemed suddenly confused. “Stingy is making the stroganoff you wanted.”

“That was yesterday.”

He ‘oh’ed silently then nodded slowly. “I see. Well, then, what would you like?”

Excited, she fairly bounced. “Tacos, please. Not Taco Bell.” She pressed a finger to her cheeks, thinking. “I’m feeling maybe barbacoa or tacos al pastor but carnitas or gobernador will do just fine if the others are difficult to find.”

Draco smiled at his beautiful wife of two years while backing out into the hall way. “Of course, darling. If it’s tacos you want, it is tacos you’ll get. Just let me go tell Stingy to save the stroganoff for another day.” He calmly shut the door, leaned against the opposite wall and hooked a finger beneath his tie to loosen it. 

He felt like he was being strangled. Ignorance did that to him.

Sighing, lost, he patted his suddenly sweaty brow with his trusty kerchief and wondered how the fuck he was supposed to bring his lovely, wonderful spouse what she wanted when she was obviously speaking a language completely foreign to him. 

What the bloody hell were ‘tacos’ and where in the world did one find them?

He sucked a deep breath through his nose then released from his mouth, squaring his shoulders. No. No. He would not disappoint her. It didn’t matter that the gorgeous love-of-his-life was speaking in tongues. A Malfoy always gets what she wants.

****

Stingy did not take the cancellation of the stroganoff well, throwing down his miniature chef’s hat, tearing off his apron and muttering darkly about hours of slaving over a hot stove for nothing but a bit of corn-wrapped meat and salad. 

Draco was not a chef. He was quite confident if he even tried to cook, he’d most likely burn the house down just boiling water. He was also quite confident there was no way to wrap corn around meat and salad and maybe Stingy needed to retire.

And contemplating Stingy’s impending retirement did nothing to solve the colossal problem of his lady-love’s dinner.

Blithely, he removed his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, still feeling rather starved for oxygen. Hermione had been rather . . . enthusiastic about her cravings and somewhat . . . violent when those cravings were not satisfied. He remembers with equal parts chagrin and humor one incident involving his father. 

Lucius had come upon a napping Hermione near the koi pond behind the manor, a jar of her – then obsession – pickled onions open on the ground, her fingertips pickling in the brine. When Lucius – very gallantly – thought to remove the jar, properly store it for future freshness and consumption, and save Hermione’s fingers from vinegar damage, Hermione had reacted with a swift deftness that defied explanation – throwing hex after hex and beating the old man about the head for ‘stealing’ her ‘nummies’. 

It had taken several hours at St. Mungo’s under the care of an accidental magic reversal squad to undo the carnage. Lucius returned to the manor the next day, noticeably absent of pink hair, bunny ears, snake skin, and centaur legs. 

There were, of course, pictures taken – both wizarding and muggle – for prosperity’s sake (and Mother’s amusement as she was shopping in Paris when the event occurred). 

Shaking his head and choking on his residual laughter, Draco apparated to his childhood home because his parents will always be his go-to for problem solving (after his wife of course . . . as long as his wife was not the aforementioned problem, like now).

“Darling,” Narcissa smiled from her seat near the hearth, her fingers busy with her new hobby – muggle needlepoint, courtesy of Mrs. Granger (aka ‘Mum’). “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Hermione needs tacos.”

“Gesundheit.”

Draco directed his eyes heavenward. “No. She wants _tacos_ for _dinner_.”

She set down her hoop and canvas. “She needs what now?”

Draco shrugged. “Tacos. Apparently, it’s some sort of muggle food.”

“Muggle food.” Lucius scoffs, entering the room. “Rubbish and poison.”

Narcissa’s expression turned stormy before Draco could scowl. “Husband, this attitude of yours is why I missed my son’s wedding. I will not have you _fucking up_ my chance to be a grand-mother so _stop being an arse_ or else.” She chucked a pillow at his head for good measure before addressing Draco again with a gentle smile. “Now, my dear, explain to me what these tacos are and we’ll see about acquiring them for my,” her eyes shifted and burned at Lucius, “ _beautiful, talented, and **much loved**_ daughter-in-law.”

“I don’t really know. Stingy mentioned something about corn and meat and salad. . . . with the corn wrapped around the meat and salad.”

Narcissa grimaced. “It’s probably the baby, dear. Remember when she was eating gerkins with chocolate sauce and jalapenos?” Draco and Lucius both shuddered. “I remember when I was pregnant with you, darling, I would often wake in the middle of the night and creep down to the kitchens to request similar fare. I remember the night before I gave birth to you, I woke consumed with the thought of anchovies bathed in mustard and sugar.” 

Pouting, Lucius said, “Why don’t I remember any of this?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It was three am most nights and you were snoring like a Horntail with sinus problems.” 

Lucius rolled his eyes so hard Draco could hear the creaking of his eye sockets. “Wouldn’t it be wiser to consult the Muh—” He caught Narcissa’s warning look, the wand poised in Draco’s hand. Lucius sighed and continued, “Miss Granger’s friends about this?”

Draco blinked. Of course. “Too right.” He hugged Narcissa, kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Mother.” He glanced at his father. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He disappeared with a great _crack_.

Lucius stared at the spot his son had disappeared from then looked at his wife, “’Thank you, _Mother’_? You didn’t even do anything!”

Narcissa sniffed, cast _langlock_ at her husband, and took up her needlepoint again. “That’s what you get for being an arse.”

****

Draco visits Weasel first. 

“What the fuck are you doing at my door in the middle of the night, Ferret?”

“That’s a door? I thought it was a piece of driftwood.”

Said door/driftwood was slammed in his face.

Sighing, Draco gritted his teeth and knocked again.

And again.

And ag –

“Malfoy! What a pleasant surprise. Please come in.” The Weasel’s long-suffering wife, Susan Weasley nee Bones, ushered him in while scowling at her husband. “You see, Ronald. This is how a gracious host greets their friends.”

“I’m not his friend.” Both men spoke at the same time then growled at each other.

Susan shook her head, picking up one baby off the floor while another sat wailing in a high chair naked and covered in red sauce that quite resembled the stains marring the Weasel’s shirt.

Tiredly, Susan lowered herself into a seat at the dining table and patted the space next to her. Draco politely took the offer, warily eyeing the oaf barely feeding the screaming tot.

“How is Hermione?” Susan said, also eyeing her husband with fingers spasming to take the damn spoon and feed the tantruming child herself.

“Good, fine. What the hell are tacos?”

Ron wasted no time in answering. “Who the fuck knows.”

Susan shook her head again. Draco wondered if she had neck problems because every time he saw her she was doing it. “Who wants tacos?”

“Hermione. She said she wanted stroganoff last night and Stingy was making some tonight but now she wants bloody tacos and I don’t know what they bloody are or where the blood hell to find them.”

Helpfully, Susan smiled. “Obviously, they’re food.”

A bowl of red sauce and pasta zoomed past Draco’s head to shatter and splatter all over the door/driftwood. Ron started cursing up a storm even as he lifted his older, dirty child out of the high chair and stomped up the stairs, presumably to bathe said older, dirty child.

Draco looked at Susan, not really concerned. “He’s not going to kill the child, is he?”

Susan blew her bangs out of her face. “’The child’ is Petal, your god-daughter.” She muttered, _fucking prat,_ under her breath. “And no. He knows that if he kills her, I will kill _him_ and make it look like an accident.”

Completely uncaring, Draco changed the subject back to his dilemma. “Where the fuck am I going to find this muggle taco shite?”

“Have you asked a muggle?”

Draco stared at Susan for long moments before grabbing her face and kissing her full on the lips. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re a stupid Hufflepuff.”

She gaped at him for equally long moments before, “Who called me stupid!?”

But he was already gone.

***

Meanwhile, Hermione was getting increasingly peckish. 

Where on God’s green Earth was her tacos? It had been a half hour already!!!! All the man had to do was pick up the damn phone and call _Mestizo_ and make an order for take away or delivery. If the phone was connected to their bedroom, she would have done it herself. What the fuck was taking so long and where the fuck was her husband?

***

Draco accidentatlly apparated into Potter and Potterette’s bedroom while they were busy making another baby.

He was scarred for life and currently catatonic for an indeterminable amount of time, laid out on the Potter’s couch, safely away from their bedroom and their bed and any naked bodies he never, ever, _ever_ wanted to see.

Also, Potter’s orgasm face tragically (and hilariously) reminds him of a pained gargoyle.

Also, Potterette’s quidditch career has done wonders for her thighs. Even Hermione wouldn’t blame him for taking a second longer than necessary to avert his eyes.

“Did Hermione finally kick your arse to the curb, Malfoy?” Potter was dressed in a frilly pink dressing gown about two sizes too small. He was also still naked underneath. This, Draco found quite offensive. He moaned as if in pain, slinging a hand over his eyes.

He heard shuffling and rustling as the Potterette placed a cup of tea on the coffee table nearby. “He kept going on and on about tacos.”

Harry hummed, “Mmmm, tacos. We should have tacos tomorrow night, Gin.”

Draco’s ears perked up. “You know what a fucking taco is?” He sat up and placed hands upon Potter’s shoulders. “I could kiss you right now.”

Potterette, in turn, grasps Draco’s shoulders. “Please don’t. I don’t want to have to explain that to Hermione.”

Potter looked at his wife, crestfallen and in disbelief. “That’s the only reason?”

The ginger shrugged, “I don’t know how you don’t know this, Malfoy; but Hermione’s favorite tacos come from _Mestizo_ – a restaurant in muggle London. They do take away or delivery. You could have just called them.”

“I didn’t know!” Draco wailed.

Potter smacked him upside the head. “Then why the fuck didn’t you just _ask Hermione?”_

“I am a man of the world, Potter, more than capable of finding my wife some bloody fucking tacos.” He stood and straightened his sleeves, his shirt, his tie – oh yeah, no tie. He unbuttoned his second button. 

Glancing at Potterette, Draco gave her a once over, “Keep doing whatever it is you’re doing in practice, Potterette. Those thighs are the stuff of a fourth year’s wet dreams.”

Potterette blushed, Potter went to punch him, and Draco had already _cracked_ out of sight.

***

Hermione was not in the bedroom when he returned with five bags full of different taco styles and flavors, toppings, salsas, _refried_ beans, and sour cream. He laid his contraband on the bed and mops his sweating face with his handkerchief. There was a Hermione-shaped crease in the mattress and bedding, still warm.

“Hermione?” He looked in the ensuite loo. No wife.

“Hermione?” He began down the hall, peeping into each room as he went. Not there either.

“Hermione?” He trotted down the stairs when the smell hits him. It smells a lot like the contraband in their bedroom. “What the fuck?”

“Hermione?” He found her at the open door, taking a suspicious looking takeaway bag from a man dressed very similarly to the employees of a certain restaurant _he just left_. “Are those some more fucking tacos?”

She finished her transaction, shut the door then smiled tightly at him. “More? I’m sorry _Malfoy_ but one must have _some_ tacos before they can have _more.”_

“You have fucking five times the amount in your hand upstairs. In simpler terms, _MORE_.”

She nearly dropped the bag she was holding. “Why did you buy so much!”

“Because my pregnant wife – whom I _love beyond all reason –_ wanted fucking tacos!!!! I got her fucking tacos!” He had no idea why he was so angry with her all of a sudden. “AND WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU OUT OF BED?”

Her face was red and sweating just as much as he was. She stepped closer, brandishing the bag of food as if in accusation. “Because my doting HUSBAND decided to up and ABANDON his hungry pregnant wife for NO APPARENT REASON!!!! I didn’t want me and the baby to starve so I called in delivery.” By now, she was toe-to-toe with him, craning her neck to scream in his face, “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!!!”

It suddenly occurred to him that her ire cannot be good for the baby.

Also, this was sort of how they made the baby. His gorgeous, thoroughly fuckable wife was _hawt_ when she was like this – all pissed off and cussing left and right (generally at him). His prick was standing at attention just thinking about that mouth and what she could do with it.

“You are so fucking hot right now, and I want you desperately.”

She surged up, dropping the bag of tacos to wind her arms around him, kissing him hard and dirty just as he liked it. “Tacos first, but no fucking. Don’t want to go into premature labor.”

“Okay. Blow job?” 

She huffed, “Fine.”

He picked her up and carried her into their bedroom before setting her down and conjuring a table, chairs, napkins, and table settings. He began unpacking the food when she asked again. “What took you so long and where the hell have you been?” Her nose wrinkled as she began looking a bit green. “Why do you smell like pasta sauce?”

“I didn’t know what tacos were and – long story short – I went to consult my parents, the Weasel, and Potter respectively. Apparently Petal was having pasta for dinner and – Hermione, darling, are you feeling alright?” She was progressively turning greener. “Is it the baby? Do you need a Healer?”

She held up a hand and began to rise from her seat before doubling over and retching all over the table.

All over the tacos.

It lasted _forever_. It got on _everything._ What the fuck had his miraculous, forgiving, gracious wife been _eating?_

When it was over, Hermione sighed over their ruined dinner and all of his effort. Draco nearly wept as she banished the vomit and everything else.

“Well?” She said from the bed. “If you want your blow job, you need to take off those clothes first.”

Draco immediately forgot all about tacos and stripped.

***

At three A.M., Draco woke himself up with his snores. Hermione wasn’t in the bed. 

Again.

“Hermione?” He looked in the ensuite loo. No wife.

“Hermione?” He began down the hall, peeping into each room as he went. Not there either.

“Hermione?” He trotted down the stairs when the smell hits him. _Tacos_? 

“Hermione?” He found her in the kitchen, licking her fingers, some sort of green goo at the corner of her mouth. “Where the fuck did you get more tacos?”

She smiled, now that she had her tacos she looked utterly content in a way that made her expression after the blow job earlier look like a cringe. “It was the ones I ordered and had delivered. Remember? I dropped them just before you brought me upstairs.”

His stomach growled as he also remembered he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. “Did you save me any?”

Hermione nodded and pulled one from out of the bag. “Just one, I’m sorry.”

It was still warm – probably from a stasis charm – due to his wife’s brilliance. He studied it, laying there with the meat and the cooked vegetables. Hermione spooned some red tomato and herb concoction on top that smelled of peppers. Then some of the green goo still smeared at her mouth and a dollop of sour cream. “How the fuck do you eat this?”

“I like to break up the tortilla and make a taco salad. Harry likes to fold the tortilla around the filling and eat it with his hands.”

Draco ended up using a knife and fork, working the ingredients to get a bite of everything at once. He placed it in his mouth. He chewed. He swallowed.

He _loved_ it. The texture, the flavor, the _spice_. 

He wanted to get Stingy on this right away. He wanted to introduce this _manna from heaven_ to his parents NOW.

He . . . . . needed to take another bite. _Yesterday_. Draco scraped more food onto his fork and lifted it up to his mouth.

“OOOOooooohhh,” Hermione groaned, holding her large stomach and staring wide-eyed at the wet spot darkening her night dress.

Draco chewed on taco. “Did you wee?”

Hermione shot him a baleful look. “No, arsehole. My water broke. I’m in labor.” She grimaced. “I need my wand and bag. Can you call St. Mungo’s, my mum, your mum, and Harry?”

He was still chomping on the taco. “I’m almost done here, can I just –”

“No.”

“But it’s just two more bi—”

“If you don’t get a move on, I will personally see to it that you cannot eat anymore tacos because you will only be able to take sustenance _through a straw_. Understood?”

“Would it be bad form to tell you that I love it when you growl at me like that and I can’t wait to fuck you again?”

“No.

“I love it when you growl at me like that and I can’t wait to fuck you again.”

Hermione sighed. “Me too.”

Draco kissed her. She tasted like, “Mmmmm, tacos.”

She smirked. “They have tacos in the St. Mungo’s cafeteria.”

He ran out of the kitchen to fetch everything and make the appropriate floo calls.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: 
> 
> Mestizo is a real Mexican restaurant and market in London.
> 
> The parts taken directly from the Strictly Dramione thread are:
> 
> When Narcissa throw her pillow at Lucius for being an asshole and preventing her from seeing the kids get married.
> 
> The story about Hermione's craving for pickled onions and the wrath she unleashed on Lucius for taking them.
> 
> The conversation about the gerkins, chocolate, and jalapenos and Narcissa's story about how she also had cravings late at night and Lucius was too dead to the world to realize.
> 
> Malfoy "calling in the cavalry" to find the damn tacos *LOL* Specifically Harry.


End file.
